


Fight

by FromFanToStan



Series: First Times [6]
Category: One Direction (Band), zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, canon adjacent, major feels, minor smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 22:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18417287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromFanToStan/pseuds/FromFanToStan
Summary: The more Harry withdraws from Zayn, the madder Zayn gets. Eventually he can't contain it. He just has to talk to Harry,





	Fight

It’s simple, really. Harry is a turtle, and at the first sign of conflict or distress he sticks his head inside his shell. This maddening tendency allows him to maintain his cheery outlook on life and the calm disposition that fans and the famous alike love so much. It is, in fact, a huge part of his charm, the way he avoids conflict and sees only the good. It drives Zayn mad.

Ever since he had told Harry that he was tiring of the band, that he wanted to go, could see a time coming when he would go, contract be damned, Harry had begun to withdraw. At first, occasionally Harry would want to go out on a hotel night instead of coming to Zayn. He always invited Zayn but seemed happy enough when Zayn declined. 

Then when Zayn stayed up waiting/hoping that Harry would come to him after, more often than not he would hear him doing the Haz version of tiptoeing down the hall with a giggling girl in hand, disappearing into his own room. Not that he shouldn’t get laid. Not at all. Zayn understood entirely that somehow the attraction between them had become performative, something they acted out on stage while in private they were affectionate but chaste best mates. Which was fine. Of course. This was what Zayn wanted anyway. Right?

It takes a few weeks, close to a month, maybe, but gradually Harry is not coming to Zayn any more. Harry is still friendly on stage, but he isn’t draping himself over Zayn or whispering promises or questions in his ear, or giving him loving looks. He’ll stand next to Zayn; he’ll put an arm across his shoulder. It’s not the same, though. Zayn feels Harry leaving, even while they are still talking to each other, still friendly, still smiling and joking and laughing as though nothing had changed, and Zayn has stopped sleeping, which makes his anxiety worse, which makes him more sullen and uncommunicative, which makes Harry’s behavior seem all the more rational. Zayn’s being an asshole, so what else would Harry do?

But Zayn is not a turtle. He wants to process his feelings about leaving the band with his best mate, and he wants the physical affection that Harry has so willingly provided for so long. If Harry has a problem with Zayn leaving, then Harry should damn well tell Zayn about it, have it out, clear the air. It’s not like he’s doing anything to hurt Harry. It’s not like Harry even cares that much. Obviously.

Zayn is gagging for a fight, a real one, physical preferably. He sees Harry these days, and he wants to wipe the grin off his face with his fist. He wants to hit him in the stomach until he bends his lanky frame double, until he vomits from the pain, until he cries. Yes. Zayn wants to see Harry cry, because at least then he’d know that Harry cares.

*********

As the weeks roll on, show after show, Zayn draws energy from his rage. He has taken to sitting with Louis, playing footie with Louis, and going out with Louis, preferably anywhere that Harry is not. They still act friendly in pubic, but Zayn is in fact waiting for a chance to confront Harry. It’s not easy. Harry has perfected the art of avoidance. Still, he can’t avoid Zayn forever, and the day comes.

They are at the venue for sound checks. Harry has wandered backstage, probably in search of one of the goddamn bananas that he eats constantly, while everyone else is still occupied with a persistent feedback problem. Zayn slips away, heart pounding at the thought of at last confronting Harry, of making him listen, of making him say why he has turned so cold. 

He finds him in the dressing room he now has to himself. Zayn and Louis share; Niall and Liam share. Not Harry. Not their little star. He gets his own space, with his own special fruit and veg, his own particular brand of water. This is what it’s come to. One Direction, back up band for Harry Fucking Styles.

Zayn doesn’t knock. He knows that Harry doesn’t lock the door, at least not unless he’s pulling, because that would make him look like a diva. He finds Harry mid-banana, as expected. He looks at Zayn in the mirror, clearly startled.

“So yeah, I guess you’ll let me leave the band and never say a word, because you don’t give a fuck. Is that about it, Haz?”

“Zayn, Jesus, you scared me. Of course I care. How can you say that I don’t? I know we haven’t talked much lately, but you’ve been glued to Louis--”

Oh, this is rich. This is amazing, coming from Harry. Like nothing is ever his fault. He’s so nice, so perfectly behaved, nothing can ever be his fault. Zayn finds himself plastered to Harry’s back without being sure how he got there exactly. “It’s just like you, Harry Styles, to blame me for something you started. Everyone thinks you’re so nice, but you’re a fucking narcissistic cunt.” He pushes Harry into the dressing counter, sending water bottles, the fresh fruit tray, and Harry’s special skin lotions skittering as he tries to catch himself. 

“Hey! No need to get violent!”

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it, Haz? Pout? Ask me to please stop?” Zayn feels strong and powerful as the words he’s held inside for weeks pour out. “You’re a pussy, Styles. No wonder girls like you so much. You’ve got a pussy just like they do.”

Harry’s face hardens, and then he turns to Zayn and shoves him back, hard. Zayn falls backward, into a chair that luckily has some weight, but then he scrambles right up again, without so much as a pause, to get in Harry’s face. Without his being aware of it, he has made fists, and he is thinking about where he wants to hit Harry, where it might hurt the most, and then suddenly he is ashamed of himself, the barely contained violence, the cruel words. What has Harry done, really, except for ignore Zayn? He sees himself through Harry’s eyes, selfish, self-absorbed. What had he called him—a narcissistic cunt? Who was Zayn talking about, really?

Zayn has cared for Harry for so long, has been his protector and his mate and the keeper of his secrets, so that when it comes down to it he can’t sustain his anger. He deflates, suddenly bereft of the rage that has been keeping him full of energy. He relaxes his hands, breathes, mutters, “Alright then, never mind, I shouldn’t have come,” but then Harry flings his arms around him, and, for the first time since the X Factor house, cries into his neck.

“I’ve missed you so much. I hate everything that’s happened.” 

Zayn has never been able to stand Harry being unhappy. He just can’t. It breaks his heart every time, no matter what Harry’s done or not done. Harry looks up at him with the green eyes whose gaze always lights up something in Zayn’s belly, and before Zayn can breathe or think or question, he’s pressing his mouth to his. 

He isn’t gentle; neither is Harry. Their tongues push, teeth clank together. It hurts, but more than that it’s hot, it’s _Harry_ , it’s the boy he’s wanted forever and missed for weeks. Harry has the presence of mind to step them to the door and lock it, and then they are on the sofa that Harry always requests and always gets, for naps and whatever else he gets up to. They are pushing tops up, fumbling at zippers, trying to toe off boots, because more than anything they want to, Zayn wants to, feel skin, to make up for the long deprivation with gluttony. At last, they are breathless and half dressed, unable to get boots off without hands or pants off without boots out of the way. Harry looks at Zayn and laughs, and then Zayn is laughing too. 

“Fuck, Haz, I’ve been so mad at you. Why did you go so cold on me?”

“I dunno. I was afraid. I’ve been mad at you for ages too. It hurt my feelings that you were just going to leave me behind like that, like fuck you, Harry, I’m gone. You should have been talking about how _we_ were going to leave, not how you were going.”

Zayn sees that Harry is right, reasonable as usual, and he kisses him, gently this time. “Do you think we have time to get one off before they come looking for us?”

“Probably not.”

“Right then. Give me a mo, and I’ll pull my trousers up and get respectable, like. I’m sorry I shoved you.”

“I’m sorry I shoved you back. But Z, will you come to mine tonight after the show? Can we....you know, pick this up?” Harry gestures between them, at whatever this has been. 

Zayn thinks to himself, _oh, we’re going to pick this up, yes, and we’re going to carry it around, and turn it into a work of art, because I am going to tear us apart, Harry Styles, and put us back together again_ , but he says only, “Yeah, I think that can be arranged.”

They are giddy on stage that night. Zayn throws a candy thong at Harry and dares him, “Put it on, Haz. Give us a show.” Harry does what Zayn wants him to, because still somehow he trusts him. He looks it over, and then he sits to slip it on, shimmies over to Zayn, stops in front of him. And Zayn, feeling emboldened by what awaits them after the show, leans over and takes a bite as close to Harry’s crotch as he dares.

The candy won’t come off. Zayn delicately lifts a hand to hold it steady so he can nibble. He lets a finger rest on Harry’s thigh. Harry is laughing, treating it like a joke, but Zayn looks up at him, and his face says, _I’m going to eat you up Harry Styles. Just wait._ It won’t be long, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The First Time series is a fictional chronology of the relationship between these characters. As always any resemblance to the real people sharing their names is probably coincidental.


End file.
